Now the Sun's Gone to Hell
by randomglitter
Summary: The loss of a friend brings B.J. and Charles together, and helps them realize their own problems.


Author: Nicole B.  
  
Email: anonymousfangirl@aol.com  
  
Disclaimer: M*A*S*H and its characters are not mine. They belong to like, Twentieth Century Fox, or CBS. I forget which. The title of this comes from the fantastic Dire Straits' song "Brothers in Arms" by Mr. Mark Knopfler.  
  
  
  
* March 15, 1953*  
  
"Colonel, there's a phone call for you," Sergeant Max Klinger said as he entered the office.  
  
"Blast it, Klinger, I told you I didn't want to be bothered right now!" Colonel Sherman Potter gnawed on the end of his paintbrush thoughtfully as he studied the canvas before him.  
  
"I know, sir, but it's from I-Corps, and the guy said it was urgent." Klinger glanced at the painting, an exact likeness of the doorway he was currently standing in. "It's lovely, sir."  
  
The colonel grunted, and sat down behind his desk, grabbing the telephone. Klinger leaned against the door, and at a look from his commander, engrossed himself in hurriedly looking busy.  
  
"This is Colonel Potter, what can I do you for?" he asked, then listened a moment. "Yes...yes, he had a pass to Seoul for three days. Does he have a battalion of angry fathers with pitchforks behind him?" Potter chuckled, and then it seemed to catch in his throat. "Are...are you sure?" He feel silent as he listened, the color draining from his weathered face. "I see...thank you for calling...can I get back to you? Yes, thank you."  
  
Klinger stepped forward as the colonel buried his face in his hands. "Sir?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Klinger...go get the senior staff," Potter ordered in a muffled voice. "Well...Hunnicut, Houlihan, Winchester and the padre."  
  
"Sir-" Klinger began, and Potter cut him off, waving his hand and looking him in the eye.  
  
"Klinger, scoot!" The company clerk nodded, and turned, fairly running from the office. Potter gazed out the window and sighed brokenly.  
  
***  
  
"I wonder what this is about," Major Margaret Houlihan mused aloud. "You two haven't gotten into any trouble since Pierce left, have you?" She fixed her gaze on the two physicians flanking her.  
  
Captain B.J. Hunnicut widened his eyes innocently. "Aw, come on, Margaret, I'm just a babe in the woods."  
  
"If only..." Major Charles Emerson Winchester muttered. "Oh, if only." They entered the colonel's office, Margaret and B.J. sitting in fron of his desk, Charles to the side. Father Francis Mulcahy sat perched on top of the desk, smiling at the officers as they entered.  
  
Catching sight of her CO's face, Margaret was immediately concerned. "Colonel, what's the matter?" Potter looked around at his staff, minus one...one very key portion.  
  
"Pierce was due back from R&R in a couple of hours...when he was on his way back, he spotted a wounded Korean child...it turned out to be an ambush..." Potter's eyes were bright with tears as he avoided B.J.'s gaze. "Head wound...he died instantly." The room was silent, perfectly still as they absorbed the information. Margaret was the first to make a sound, as she let out a half-strangled moan. Klinger looked at the floor, clenching his fist and jaw. Charles had no visible reaction, his face was blank, his eyes glazed. Father Mulcahy unconsciously wrapped one hand around his cross, eyes fixed on B.J., who, incredibly, began to laugh.  
  
"Now that's a good one, Hawk," he chuckled. "And nice job, Colonel. I can't believe you went along with it, though. Wow. He got me, and good."  
  
"Son..." Potter shook his head. "This isn't a joke. Pierce is dead."  
  
"All right, Colonel, this one isn't so funny anymore." The laughter went out of B.J.'s voice, it took on a harder tone.  
  
"B.J., no...it isn't funny..." the priest said quietly.  
  
"Oh, come on, Father, you've fallen for it, too?" he demanded wildly. "Margaret, stop sniffling!And Charles, come on, you look catatonic! Come on, Hawk, you've had your fun, you've reached your ultimate goal!" B.J. stood swiftly, and Margaret closed her hand around his sleeve. "Hawk, enough!" he called out.  
  
"B.J., please!" Margaret pleaded, pulling on his sleeve. "Just sit down."  
  
"I can't believe you people!" he exclaimed. "This is Hawkeye's way of getting back at us, Charles, because of...because..." B.J. started to trail off as Charles looked back at him with a steady gaze. The pity and terror in the vivid blue eyes of his aloof bunkmate was shattering.  
  
"B.J., my son-" Father Mulcahy's voice was compassionate.  
  
"I'm...I'll be right back." B.J. pushed past Margaret, and they watched him leave. Charles looked back down at his hands, and began adjusting the time on his wristwatch. The colonel reached for a stack of paperwork, and Klinger hurried to find him a pen.  
  
Margaret caught the eye of Father Mulcahy. "Someone needs to go after B.J.," she said hoarsely, mainly to the chaplain.  
  
"Let him be, Margaret, the man needs time to himself," Charles said without glancing up. She jerked her head in his direction.  
  
"But he's so upset-" she began.  
  
"Cool it, Margaret," Potter said brusquely. The nurse looked back to the priest pleadingly. Without her noticing, tears had begun to spill down her cheeks.  
  
"Father, he needs someone right now!" she told him in a voice choked by sobs. "Hawkeye isn't here to talk him through this one-"  
  
"Tend to yourself, my child," Mulcahy whispered as the tears splattered Margaret's fatigues.  
  
***  
  
*March 27, 1953*  
  
B.J. Hunnicut sat on the hard dirt, knees drawn up to his chest as he leaned against the door of the Swamp. He studied his large sneakers with no visible emotion.  
  
"Hunnicut, if you are not going to help me with this task, would you at least be so kind as to get out of my way?" Charles Winchester snapped, shoving at the door from inside the tent. B.J. stood, slowly enough to irritate Charles further, and stalked off towards the showers. On the way, he passed a jeep just pulling into camp.  
  
Major Sidney Freedman hopped out quickly, calling out, "B.J.!" The tall man either ignored him, or didn't hear. Sidney surveyed the camp, sighing inwardly. He walked purposefully to the colonel's office, and opened without knocking.  
  
"Sid Freedman!" The colonel looked at him with surprise, and a hint of trepidation. "What in tarnation are you doing here? Hunnicut or Winchester call you for a patient?"  
  
"Winchester would better serve as the patient himself," Sidney replied. "Colonel, why did I hear about this through gossip?"  
  
"If I didn't know what a good head-shrinker you were, Major, I'd think I heard a bit of anger in your voice," Potter remarked.  
  
"You heard more than a trace," Sidney said steadily. "Even a psychiatrist is entitled to human emotion, and right now, I'm furious. He was my friend, Sherm."  
  
Potter took a deep breath. "You're right. Someone should have called...I should have called. We've just been so busy, there was a deluge...We're short staffed still." He swallowed, then looked back up. "I'm sorry, Sidney."  
  
"It's all right," Sidney told him gently. "Aside from reprimanding you, I came for professional reasons. I wanted to see how my favorite patients were doing. I passed B.J., but he didn't seem to hear me."  
  
"We're holding up here," Potter said gruffly. "It's tough, but we'll pull through it, I'm sure. New surgeon's coming in soon...Winchester is packing Pierce's things now to send home."  
  
Sidney raised his eyebrows. "Winchester? Not B.J.?"  
  
"It's been hard for Hunnicut..." Potter exhaled heavily. "It's been hard for all of us. The padre's been a rock, but...I really should have called you."  
  
"What about you?" Sidney inquired neutrally. Potter sighed.  
  
"This old soldier's seen a lot of friends die...this hit me pretty hard, he was a good man." The colonel stood up. "I won't say it hasn't phased me, but I'll be all right." Walking toward the door, he beckoned to the psychiatrist. "Before you get started on analyzing me, let's have Klinger put your things in the VIP tent."  
  
"Do you suppose I could stay in the Swamp?" Sidney asked. Potter exhaled thoughtfully.  
  
"Jumping right into the thick of it, aren't you, Major?" he asked quietly. "I don't mind, Hunnicut won't care, and no one really cares if Winchester minds or not, so let's get moving."  
  
Klinger was subdued as he followed Sidney and Potter, but he was still irrepressibly Maxwell Q. Klinger, having greeted Sidney with his usual impassioned plea for a Section 8 discharge. In Potter's ear, Sidney whispered to him.  
  
"THAT man is the rock." Potter nodded slightly.  
  
***  
  
"Major Winchester, hello," Sidney greeted Charles. "You look quite well." The other doctor spared him a flicker of a smile over his shoulder, as he neatly folded the rest of Hawkeye Pierce's clothing into his footlocker.  
  
"Thank you for your banal and insincere sentiments, Major, let me return with a blatant lie of my own," he said dryly. "It's such a pleasure to see you." Sidney chuckled to himself as he perched on the edge of B.J.'s cot.  
  
"It's nice to see that some things never change," he observed, beckoning towards the record on Charles' phonograph. Beethoven's energetic third symphony, Eroica, played undisturbed.  
  
"Never change, eh?" Charles muttered. "And this man is a psychiatrist."  
  
"Pardon me, Major?" Sidney asked in his calm voice.  
  
"No, no, Dr. Freedman, that wasn't a subconscious plea for help, I assure you." Charles turned around, sitting back on his heels. "It was merely the first insult that came to mind."  
  
"Yeah, he's just your basic issue bastard, no strings attached." B.J. Hunnicut walked into the tent then, flopping down on the cot next to Charles'. Winchester slammed the lid on Hawkeye's foot locker, not touching it after that. B.J. examined Sidney's things. "You're staying with us for awhile, Sid?" The psychiatrist nodded, and B.J. shrugged.  
  
"Well, if it comes to it, the extra pair of hands will be nice." He checked his watch. "In fact, I'm on duty in post op in two minutes. Guess I'll be seeing you later." B.J. jumped back up, and left the Swamp again. Sidney's eyes were on Charles, however. When B.J. had left the tent, Charles had watched him to make sure he was gone, then reopened Hawkeye's foot locker.  
  
"Major, why did you do that?" Sidney asked curiously.  
  
"Do what?" Charles asked, sounding irritated.  
  
"You closed the foot locker while B.J. was in here, maybe so it wouldn't upset him?"  
  
"I did no such thing."  
  
"Yes, you did, I was watching."  
  
"You've been over here for awhile, haven't you, Doctor? Perhaps you should see someone about these hallucinations of yours." Winchester's voice was tight as he absently organized Hawkeye's nudist magazines into a pile, then looked down at his stack. With a slight groan, he stood, then dumped them in Sidney's lap. "In memoriam of the late Captain Pierce, I give you these," he said with a slight bow.  
  
"Well, I'd send them to Trapper McIntyre, but I doubt his wife would approve," Sidney commented, looking at his newly bequeathed library. Charles snorted at this.  
  
"Well, if you'd be so good as to excuse me, Major, I must go fetch Klinger to do...something about all this," he said, waving his hand at Hawkeye's belongings.  
  
"Don't let me stop you, Major," Sidney said with a gracious nod. Their eyes locked for a second, both probing the other. Charles broke the look first, rolling his eyes skyward with a muttered, "Honestly!"  
  
Sidney sighed aloud as Winchester left. He had seen the pain in the bigger man's face, and Charles had been visibly jolted by the intensity of Freedman's own expression. Sidney gazed around the tent, taking in B.J.'s pictures of Peg and Erin, Trapper John McIntyre's beloved distillery, and Hawkeye's suddenly immaculate cot. As Eroica continued to play in the background, Sidney felt the pangs of loss deepen inside him.  
  
***  
  
*March 31, 1953*  
  
"Kellye, keep an eye on his IV, he keeps twitching that hand," Margaret Houlihan told the lieutenant.  
  
"Yes, Major," Kellye replied, walking over to the unconscious South Korean soldier sleeping fitfully in the bed. Margaret scanned post-op vigilantly as usual, but her gaze lingered on the door. He would often come in to keep her and B.J. company while they worked, and to check up on his patients. Margaret gasped audibly as the door swung open, and she rushed forward to meet a puzzled looking B.J..  
  
"Is something wrong, Margaret?" he demanded. Desperately fighting back her tears, the head nurse shook her head.  
  
"No, I'm sorry..." she trailed off. B.J. looked at her with such compassion, she began to cry harder. He looked like the man he'd been a month ago.  
  
"Margaret, talk to me," he insisted in the gentle tone.  
  
"Not in here," she begged. "Please."  
  
"All right, sure." B.J. took her hand, and led her outside. They leaned against the wall, breathing in the warm spring air. Slow tears continued to roll down Margaret's cheeks.  
  
"Tomorrow's the first," she whispered to him.  
  
"The first of what?" B.J. asked in a tone that attempted to be dry. "I lost count a long time ago."  
  
"April. April Fool's Day." From the way B.J. clenched his jaw, Margaret could tell this was a subject he had intended to avoid.  
  
"So it is, Margaret. You thinking of taping a 'Kick me' sign to Klinger's nose?" he asked sharply.  
  
"It's just been hurting me, B.J...." she told him. "I was certain it was going to be him walking through that door right then." B.J. reacted as if he'd been punched in the gut.  
  
"Well, that'd be a hell of a practical joke, wouldn't it? Maybe you'll surprise us yet, Hawkeye Pierce." The harsh words were in sharp contrast with the desperately hopeful ranting in Colonel Potter's office from the day they heard, and even stranger from the cheerful practical joker that she had met when he first came to Korea. "Margaret, what are you expecting? A big joke-fest? Or some tearful monument to the late Benjamin Franklin Pierce? We've had our memorial service, and I don't think we're in the mood for 'jocularity' right now."  
  
"I'm expecting you to eventually DEAL with this, Hunnicut!" Margaret yelled. "I'm expecting that you take two minutes to think about the fact that your best friend is dead, and that you are not. I'm expecting you to allow yourself to grieve, and somehow overcome. And, if you can't, I'm simply expecting you to respect the fact that a man we both loved is gone."  
  
"I'm not dealing with this to your standards, Margaret?" B.J. snapped back. "Am I the one falling to pieces in post-op? Am I like the colonel, getting comfort from a bottle?"  
  
"That's low of you, B.J. Hunnicut." Margaret glared up at him. "And it's so utterly unlike you that I can just use it as further proof. I've talked to Dr. Freedman about my feelings, so has Klinger, and the colonel. The only ones who won't talk are you and that damned Charles Winchester, and you both need to. Why do you think Dr. Freedman has stationed himself almost permanently in the Swamp?"  
  
"Sid Freedman needs as much help with this as the rest of you. For once, Charles and I have something in common. Strength."  
  
"More like arrogance and idiocy," Margaret spat out. "I need to get back to my patients." She turned on her heel, and pushed into the post-op unit again. B.J. kicked at the dirt, cursing, and followed her.  
  
***  
  
*April 2, 1953*  
  
Sidney Freedman fought off the wave of depression that threatened to overtake him as he half-heartedly tossed pretzels into his mouth. Tomorrow he was due back in Seoul, away from these people he cared about so deeply, these people who he couldn't help.  
  
"Hey, Major, you look pretty low," Klinger commented. He was tending bar in the Officer's Club, as he had tended to do more often lately.  
  
"Well, Max, I kind of am," Sidney told him honestly. "It's hard to do your job when the army is telling you exactly the opposite."  
  
"What's going on?" Klinger asked curiously. "You going back to Seoul?"  
  
"Tomorrow," Sidney said with a nod. "I'm leaving the 4077th behind until the next time I can get leave, because I can't come in an official capacity for a while. And frankly, it frightens me to be leaving with two-thirds of your medical staff candidates for an emotional breakdown at any time."  
  
A worried frown creased Klinger's dark face. "Well, the new surgeon is also due tomorrow," he said thoughtfully. "I wonder how B.J. and Major Winchester will react to that."  
  
"B.J.'s completely depressed...and in contrast, Winchester won't have a conversation without retreating behind his shield of wisecracks."  
  
"That sounds like Hawkeye, if you ask me," Klinger said, wiping down the bar with a rag. Sidney nodded, surprised.  
  
"Yes, they do have a lot in common...Klinger, have you ever considered psychiatry?"  
  
"Me?" Klinger laughed. "Doc, I'm the nutcase, remember?"  
  
"Right, I forgot." Sidney smiled. "Your complete sanity always throws me off track."  
  
****  
  
  
  
"Dr. Freedman, I'm merely one of the most eminent thoracic surgeons in New England, but I hardly think the American Psychiatric Association endorses the use of Lebanese extortionists to secure its members' client bases!" Charles stomped up behind Sidney as the other man was headed to the Swamp, seething with indignation.  
  
"Dr. Winchester," Sidney turned to the taller man, hiding his smile, "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"  
  
"Yes, I'd like to talk about Max Klinger coercing me-" Charles cut off his retort suddenly. "Well, yes, doctor, could you spare me a few moments?"  
  
"Major, it would be my pleasure." The two officers walked to the unoccupied VIP tent, where Sidney had been conducting his sessions. Once both were seated, Charles burst out again.  
  
"I think it's extremely unprofessional-"  
  
"I didn't tell Klinger to talk to you," Sidney interjected calmly. "I didn't even know he was planning it. What's he blackmailing you with?"  
  
"Never mind that," Charles said hurriedly. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"  
  
"Very well." Sidney settled into his chair, crossing his legs. "Why do you think I wanted to speak with you?"  
  
"Must we play these childish games?" Charles demanded.  
  
"Dr. Winchester." Sidney's voice was patient, emotionless.  
  
"You, like everyone else in this godforsaken place, feel for some reason that I am suffering from some sort of emotional distress over Pierce's death." Charles said sharply.  
  
"And are you?" Sidney asked.  
  
"Why should I be?" Charles toyed with the band of his wristwatch, avoiding Sidney's eyes.  
  
"That's not an answer, Major," Sidney pressed gently.  
  
"No, I'm perfectly all right," Charles muttered. "Obviously, as a physician, I find this senseless loss of life sickening, and it's upsetting to be losing such a talented colleague...Potter and Hunnicut can't compare when it comes to surgery...But this is a war zone, people are going to die. That's the bottom line."  
  
"Is your problem purely professional, then?" Sidney asked mildly.  
  
"Absolutely." Charles nodded emphatically, then frowned. "I mean, if I indeed did have a problem, it would solely be of a professional nature." He paused again. "Which I don't."  
  
"Forgive me for suggesting such a thing, then." Sidney abandoned the subject for a moment, changing tactics. "Dr. Winchester, when you were packing Hawkeye's belongings several days ago, you went to great lengths to keep B.J. Hunnicut from seeing his things. I was there, Major, I saw you."  
  
"All right, yes, I did," Charles conceded.  
  
"Would seeing those things upset B.J.?" Sidney asked. Charles smiled slightly.  
  
"So this is really about Hunnicut, is it?" He nodded to himself. "I'm not a completely heartless person, Dr. Freedman. The man had just lost his best friend, odd as his taste may be. I denied it in a futile attempt to deter you from drawing the conclusions that you have now, that both Hunnicut and I are emotional basketcases at the moment."  
  
"To be frank with you, Major, I'm not sure what's wrong with you. B.J. is grieving, in denial...but you? I'm not so sure."  
  
"Well, that's terribly comforting. You really are an asset to your field, my good man." Winchester stood, moving to the door. "As this interview has gone on long enough to appease Klinger, and hopefully, you, I'll bid you good evening."  
  
"Good night, Dr. Winchester," Sidney said, not letting his disappointment show.  
  
"Major." With a characteristic nod, Charles ducked out the door, walking out into the compound.  
  
***  
  
April 8, 1953  
  
The low mumblings from B.J. Hunnicut's cot gradually brought Charles Winchester to consciousness, and he pushed himself up on his elbows. Bright moonlight illumniated the Swamp, and Winchester could see the other surgeon thrashing in his sheets, his sweat drenched forehead shining.  
  
"Erin...no, Hawk, don't..." B.J. whispered, his face twisted in the anguish of the dream. Charles watched him silently, struggling to remain impassive. "Hawkeye...Erin!" he moaned, his voice tightening.  
  
Charles couldn't control himself at that point."Hunnicut!" he called across the tent in a stage whisper, elicting no answer but another quiet moan from his bunkmate.  
  
"Hawk, why'd you have to do it?" B.J.'s suddenly loud voice was startling in the night, and there were stirrings in the bed next to him.  
  
"Hunnicut, for God's sake, wake up!" Charles hissed across the tent. Sighing, he slipped out of bed, shuffling sleepily to his colleague's bedside.  
  
"Are these midnight gatherings common at this place?" Captain Martin Davis asked in a muffled voice. Ignoring him, Charles shook B.J.'s shoulder urgently.  
  
"Come on, Hunnicut, wake up!" he pleaded. B.J.'s eyes fluttered open, and he stared up at Charles. Charles felt the paralyzing panic slowly leave Hunnicut's body, as the other man began to breathe easier.  
  
"I dreamed about him," B.J. said matter-of-factly. Charles took a deep breath, averting his eyes.  
  
"If you two don't mind..." Davis, Pierce's replacement, sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes, irritated.  
  
"Come on," Charles told B.J. softly. "Let's go for a walk."  
  
***  
  
"He was the greatest friend I'll ever have." The two doctors walked slowly through the 4077th, B.J. speaking quietly. "I just got so angry that such talent, someone who could do so much good could be snuffed so quickly." B.J. gave an ironic little laugh. "And I felt guilty, because I was just upset that I didn't have a best friend anymore."  
  
"I felt guilty, as well," Charles said hoarsely. "It should have been me...everyone here thought that, as well." B.J. looked over at Charles in horror.  
  
"No...no, Charles..."  
  
"Why the hell not? What do I have to offer to the world? And what did he have to offer? Contrast that, Hunnicut. Look at people like Hawkeye Pierce, then look at *me*. Well, why can't I be that man? What's wrong with me?"  
  
The bitterness in Charles's voice shook B.J. deeply. He stared over at this man he had been through so much with, yet never really knew. With a slightly choking sob, he whispered,  
  
"You have everything to offer this world, you just don't trust yourself to do it properly...you don't think you're good enough."  
  
Charles had no idea how to respond to this, and simply lowered his head. Then he brought it back up with a jerk.  
  
"Well, you don't need Pierce to survive, Hunnicut! You're an individual, you can make it through this."  
  
"Not by myself," B.J. mumbled to himself. Charles shook his head, smiling at him sadly.  
  
"No...not by ourselves anymore." 


End file.
